Movable
by K.Langer
Summary: A small sketch with words about Jack's life before the film. Note sure if it'll go beyond this or have any strict linear progression - he's just a fun character to think about.


Outside the dingy window, the sun was creeping up on the silent city of Paris, casting a stunning range of pastels across the sky. From inside the window a young man pulled on his pants and adjusted his suspenders quickly before slipping quietly out of the tiny room so as to not disturb the still sleeping girl sprawled on his bed. She was a nice gal and all, but the young man was starting to grow tired of her company. He felt a pang of shame, recalling the plump bar maid's words from the night before –_ Ah, Jack! Always in and out of love!_ Climbing the rickety ladder that led to the roof, he just chalked it all up to being 19 in the greatest city on the planet.

The chilly breeze felt like feathers flickering across his bare chest and the back of his neck as he gazed out across the city, his elbows resting on the building's rail. The other buildings were silhouettes against the vibrant blues, yellows, and oranges of the sky – and the silence! Jack couldn't recall a time when the city was so quiet. He started to feel like the only man on Earth. Drawing himself back and inhaling deeply, he let out a loud howl that echoed all around, a piece of him saturating the city he loved all at once. He couldn't keep from smiling even if he wanted.

By the time the slightly irritated voice sounded from behind him, people on the street below had started to stir and the sun was visible in the sky. "What are you doing?" The accent was watered down French, the product of years of shuffling between English boarding schools and home in the French country side. World class education only to end up in a flea trap with a struggling artist... it never ceased to amuse Jack.

"Just taking in the morning," he replied, turning to the girl with a slight smile. "Didn't think you'd've wanted me to wake you." She was only wearing his bed sheet as she approached him, leaning in for a kiss.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. He returned the smile wishing he was looking at someone who would be offended at this moment, rather than pleased. "I need to get going. Father is coming around to see that I'm behaving properly. I'd hate to disappoint him." She gave him a dangerous smile that made his mind go fuzzy and suddenly he was kissing her with great enthusiasm. His hands found their way inside the sheet and he explored her body as he tried to get her on the ground. "Not here," she breathed.

"It'll be fine."

"Inside," her voice was a hiss now. With a feeling almost like repulsion, he allowed her to lead him back to his room. Conviction lumped in his stomach like a stone – he had to break it off. Right now. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the door clicked shut and the sheet came off and he figured he could wait a little longer.

"You are wasting your time." The nude, haggard woman sat casually on the lumpy couch, her legs crossed even though the right one was missing from just above the knee down. "Portraits are so dated; there are so many new movements out there. Why stick with portraits?"

"I like trying to catch the story of the person," Jack shook a lock of his long hair out of his eyes, never breaking concentration. "All that stuff out there now doesn't capture the feeling and beauty in ordinary people. It's too self-focused."

"I find much of it moving and filled with a universal humanity," the woman's voice became husky with passion.

"Ah, Marie, that's the problem with you French," he looked up with a sly smirk. "You all have a skewed view on humanity."

"Stupid American," she countered, returning the smirk.

"Stay just like that!"

Once he had drawn her face, Marie asked about his love-life. "Are you still seeing that bourgeoisie brat?"

"Yes."

"You're wasting your time there, too."

"Oh, really?"

"You are! What do you see in her? She's so drab! You need a girl with passion."

"She has passion," he thought back to earlier.

"Maybe for your prick, but not much else," Marie's voice was harsh, coming at him almost like a bark. Jack loved how frank she was. "You're just a play thing to her – a nice idea. She'll leave you the second another tortured free spirit comes along."

Jack pretended to be focusing on shading to avoid answering. Sure, he had been planning on breaking it off, but to find himself agreeing wholeheartedly with Marie stung at his ego a bit. He blew away some of the pencil shavings that had accumulated on the page. "You're probably right," he admitted. "I was going to break it off anyway."

"Good. You spend too much time chasing dumb girls when you just need to fuck them and move on." Jack bit back an embarrassed smile as Marie continued. "Save anything longer than two days for the girl that really stirs your soul."

When he had finished, Marie hopped with her one good leg over to her robe and slipped it on. "Where are you off to now?"

"Off to see if _I_ can get paid for this," he said as he handed her the fee for an hour.

"You're the only man who has paid me for my body that I like," Marie winked as she tossed the money onto her table and lit a cigarette.

"You're wonderful, Marie," he blew her a kiss before spinning out of the door towards whatever the afternoon held.


End file.
